


Personality Gap

by whosbuckaroo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 20:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18213170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whosbuckaroo/pseuds/whosbuckaroo
Summary: Although his mind is a mess, basically every version of Bucky wants to fuck Steve (and every version of Steve)





	Personality Gap

**Author's Note:**

> Dumb smut that goes over Bucky's amnesia and personality disorder

Last night was something else. I don’t remember much of what happened before, but it was. I recall every detail. I think Steve was trying to get me to retrieve more of my memory, yet I can’t know for sure. Because how could we have gone from that to sinking into each other’s pleasure and lust? How could a simple attempt at memory exercises turn into what we did?

“Hey, Buck?” the voice causes my head to shoot up. “Whatcha thinking about?”

It’s Steve’s voice. It’s Steve standing by my door frame. He looks different.

Right, he looks like that now. It’s Captain Rogers now, not Stevie. Suddenly the realization of what he’s asking hits me and I understand that we haven’t discussed what happened the night before. He steps closer to me. Say something.

“You’re here to… talk about it?” I ask cautiously.

Steve stares at the ground before crossing his arms and facing me down as I’m sitting on the bed; He sighs before sheepishly replying. “I don’t know what’s there to talk about.” He’s looking for approval before continuing. I want to nod. “Look, you’re… you.”

I don’t understand. I’m me, of course. I’m his. Yes, I’ve always been. He sits on the bed, inches away. He’s dangerously close to my arm.

“Buck, if you don’t want it to happen again, you gotta tell me.” Steve says, his head facing mine. “Did I do something wrong?” I shake my head lazily. “Am I doing something wrong right now?” he frowns in worry. I adore how much he cared.

I shake my head. Next thing I know, his lashes are bent down as he focuses on my lips. My teeth catch my bottom lip’s flesh for a quick second. He does that to me. It isn’t me biting my lip. Steve’s gracious hands levitate to the back of my neck and takes ahold of my head tenderly. His piercing blue eyes hurt. He hurts. My stomach hurts. I get lost. He does that to me. But this time, it’s me who collides my lips onto his.

He slides his tongue and I let him in like a kid who’s too excited for ice cream. Stevie does that. I once used the last penny in my filthy pockets to buy us some chocolate ice cream, back in the day. I remember he rejected it at first, never approving of me spending my skimpy paycheck on him, however his skinny fingers grabbing the cone for dear life spoke otherwise. Seeing him happy made me happy.

Now I’m kissing this stranger. Although technically it is Stevie, only bigger. I’m kissing Stevie. Stevie’s kissing me back and digging his fingers into my scalp. I begin panting into the kiss. Captain Roger’s kiss. Stevie would never bite my lip like this, nor moan into the kiss like this. Suddenly, my jacket comes off. He takes it off. My arm is dangerously exposed, dangerously close to him, I’m gonna hurt him.

No, it’s Steve who hurts me with his long fingers slightly pulling at my hair, making sounds that make me want to give him a real reason to moan.

“Steve…” I find myself gasping when his moist lips trail down to my jaw, then my neck, then he’s leaving love bites into my collarbone.

“Yes?” only when he says that do I realize he’s staring up at me, and not because Stevie’s this tiny guy that stares up, because he’s not anymore, he’s staring up because he’s kneeling on the floor.

His palm presses onto my crotch through my jeans, causing me to close my eyes and let out a big breath I didn’t know I was holding. He stops. He’s hurting me with those icy blue eyes. Teasing me.

The last time I saw his eyes like that he was small and skinny and I was cleaning up the blood off his face with a cloth after he had gotten beat up. He kissed me that day, I think. No, Stevie and I never did that before last night.

Oh but those eyes, begging, longing, hungry. They’re Stevie’s. This man in front of me is Stevie. When did he take his shirt off? When did he take my shirt off?

Right, when we were kissing. Now he's on his knees and his muscles are glistening and clenching and I can feel the heat radiating from his skin and we're both exposed and

My arm is exposed. But I won't hurt him. He's the one hurting me, undoing my belt and taking my cock out so effortlessly with one firm hand. It makes my veins pulse even more.

"For God sakes, Buck, say something." He rolls his eyes at me.

His pink lips are agonizingly close to my member, barely a breath away. I want him to close that gap. "God's not here, punk." I say in what's almost a groan.

 _I don't mean it_. How could there not be something holy about this, when he looks just like an angel?

He smirks up at me.

 _I mean it_. How could there be anything holy about this when his sky-blue eyes turn so demonic, possessed-like, as he wraps his wet lips around my sex. He's hurting me with that look.

A moan gets caught up in my throat while he bobs down. Three movements later my breathing fastens and I can't prevent my head from throwing back in pleasure.

God, it's Stevie. Stevie's smart little mouth that would get him into trouble is few inches away from making himself gag. And it's me. But it's not.

I don't remember last night. No, yes I do but it wasn't me. Or, it was and now I'm not me. What I do remember is Steve pushing me against a wall and devouring my lips. I remember him sweating and cursing and squirming and calling out my name. I remember every inch of his body and how he touched me and where he touched me. I remember every detail of how we gave into each other's desires.

But nothing else. How did I get here? Why would he do those things to me?

He likes to do that apparently. I like it when he does that. I'm moaning. Am I? I stopped for a second but I'm enjoying this because he's sucking and licking me up and down and twirling his tongue around my tip. He's sending all sorts of vibrations through my nerves, naturally provoking my voice to escape my lips.

But I don't remember anything else. He used to be smaller. Right, I recall the day I saw him for the first time after the serum. He had risked his life to save me. He always does. I don't know what he was saving me from, but I remember pain.

Out of the -not so- blue, Steve's mouth is removed from me. "You ok?"

I sigh. Am I ok? I don't know what that means. I want him to do all these things to me but I don't know what 'me' means. I think I mumbled the last words out loud.

"What's that?" He cautiously stands up and stares down at me with mild concern. "Tell me what's wrong."

I feel two fingers grab my chin, a touch so gentle it almost startles me after how tight it had been earlier. I feel awful. He was so dedicated and now I'm ruining it. There’s so much that I can’t avoid thinking, and there’s this void in my memories and personality gap toying with my perception of things and the only fucking thing I want

…is Steve.

I hate ruining it. I always do, so by continuity I hate me. I don't hate me, I hate the fact that I don't know if I'm me. I hate the me that doesn't know. And the me that I was under Hydra. And the me right now, because I don't know which is which and I don't know which one doesn't know.

"I'm not me." I blurt out, unable to meet his eyes. Able, but I didn't know how.

The touch on my chin becomes a pressure, lifting my face up. "You're Bucky." He simply states, as if nothing besides those words mattered.

I search for something in his ocean eyes but all I find is him searching for something in mine. I reflect myself in his eyes and so does he. Perhaps he sees himself as I see him, a stick-like figure picking on fights, a brave man with a ridiculous outfit, a punk. And perhaps I can see myself like he sees me.

Bucky.

I know one thing and that is that I am Bucky. Steve's Bucky. I know two things: I am Bucky and I want Steve. My hands fly to his face and drag it down so that I can crash my lips onto his.

There's nothing angelical to the way he kisses me back. It's full of quick moans and the sexiest satisfaction sounds I've ever heard. I heard them last night. I've heard them before, I just don't know when. Suddenly he's pushing me back gently, laying my body down before placing himself on top of me.

But I don't let him take control. I hold his tense torso and pin him down onto the mattress, positioning my legs on each side of his hips. I feel his budge pressing against mine and I can't help but groan while I admire Steve, shutting his eyes closed at the friction. His hand reaches for one of my legs. He's begging.

I want him to beg.

All my body responds with is my cock twitching harder and my metal fingers digging into his hip until he sighs out. Then it's my free hand running down his bare chest, careful not to scratch him too deep.

"God..." He complains, practically annoyed that I'm not gagging on him.

I know that's what he wants. I hope so. I don't know what he wants.

"What do you want?" I ask, nearly gulping at the sight.

Steve lets out a small smile, his eyes fluttered closed with agony. "I want you to touch me."

I know what he means. I don't comply. I trail a finger on the bridge of his pants. I stand up and take my own off. He stares. He just stares with those baby-blue eyes, waiting so impatiently. I know three things: I am Bucky and I want Steve and Steve is going to kill me with that look.

I take his off. He grabs the back of my head and coerces me into kissing him. He's needy. I play with the edge of his briefs. He hates it but he begs. Why is he begging? Right, I'm making him do it. I want him to beg. It's usually me who does; I begged him to stop picking fights with buffer guys and I begged him to not enlist and I begged him to come rescue me at Hydra when I was in pain and I begged him to stop trying to save me from myself and I begged him to take me right there and then last night.

I want the begging one to be him this time. I lock our fingers and rest my weight on his hands against the bed as I lay down do kiss his chest. The kisses become love bites, which then become hickeys. He's a moaning mess when I'm done working his abs.

"Buck..." he pleads.

"What is it, punk?" I smirk while I rock my hips slightly against his pulsating member.

It arouses me just as much as it does him but I conceal it. I want him to know I'm not desperate like him, because I want him to need me.

He lets out a deep, guttural sound of frustration. "Bucky, please. Please."

My ears are satisfied. I don't want to torture him. I don't want to hurt him. He's the one hurting me, begging like that. Our boxers are long gone by the time I grab his length and start pumping. Steve is panting and squirming and cursing and I'm kissing his neck and it's hot and heavy and this is Stevie and Stevie was a punk and this punk is moaning really loud. And he's so needy he doesn't even ask me to fuck him, he doesn't even ask anything, he merely continues to groan into the air while I dig my mouth in the crook of his neck and stroke him.

"God, Bucky, oh God..." His lips are parted and dry and his Adam’s apple goes up and down.

I reposition myself in order to be able to reach his drive with my mouth. I lick one side of his cock upwards. His entire body squirms. He wants more. I know four things. He wants more. I take him fully, expecting a moan but earning a cry. He's on the edge.

"Please, Bucky, I'm so close." The blonde beauty informs me with his eyes still closed as they have been for the past minutes.

I bob up and down and do my best to pleasure him. I'm not sure I'm doing it as he wants me to do it, but I'm sure he's getting there when he lifts his hips, sinking deeper into my mouth, grabbing onto the sheets for dear life, lets out unholy sounds, starts trembling, shuts up for a second, lets out a big puff of air, fills my mouth. I swallow it, I have to, he did the same for me last night.

Steve attempts to slow down his breathing. My body collapses as well and he wraps an arm around me so that he's hugging me from behind. He begins to kiss my jaw with lust and gratitude. His hand finds my throbbing member, he pumps up and down all while sucking a hickey into my neck. It hurts. I love it when Steve does that. He's done it before. My cock twitches under his firm touch, he's making me moan. I don't want to moan out loud, I don't want him to control my pleasure. He does.

"Too sore from yesterday to go all the way, right?" Stevie purrs into my neck before continuing to work the love mark.

Right, yesterday. I don't know how we got to that. I don't remember. He's pumping dangerously fast and strongly and I can't pick up my breathing. I'm panting too heavily for him to ignore that I need some sort of release. The mixture of this and the hickey is sending electric vibrations through my system.

I still try not to sound desperate. "How..." I have to stop and swallow hard before trying to speak again, however all that comes out is a weak voice muffled by heavy panting. "...how did we... end up doing th-that?"

"You remembered how we used to do this in the army." Steve's voice is full of malice.

The release of him finally detaching from my agonizing neck is enough to skyrocket every sensation. I'm riding a rollercoaster, almost there.

"You remembered a lot, actually." The casual conversation isn't stopping me from sweating under his touch.

"Right." I gasp for air and say my last words before completely giving in and getting the release I long so badly. "You're the man from the bridge."


End file.
